


Apology accepted.

by JustLyra



Category: Motorcycling RPF, motogp - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2616173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLyra/pseuds/JustLyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Gala night. Marc panics that he's upset Vale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apology accepted.

The loud, bubbling laughter that was just so intrinsically Marc filtered across Vale's ears as he looked around the room. The Awards had been given out, the speeches made, and now everyone was locked in the slightly awkward when-can-I-leave-without-being-first drinks reception afterward. For every ceremony he'd been too, and Vale had been to many, this room always smelled of hypocrisy to him; handshakes and fake sincerity between people who everyone  _knew_ hated each other. Thinking back to his times of pretend  _casual_  conversations with Casey or Jorge he unconsciously grimaced, only realising when a slightly panicked looked filtered across the face of the boy,  _man_ , he hadn't even realised he was staring at.

"H-h-hi..."

Glancing at Marc, the slight stutter easily explained by the wobbly champagne glass in his hand, Vale raised a curious eyebrow, "What?"

"Erm..." Dressed in his suit, no doubt handpicked by his mother, Marc's boyish edges seemed sharper; more rider-turned-model than kid-from-Cervera, "Have I pissed you off?"

Watching Marc's eyes, the dark brown orbs flitting back and forth across Vale's face, desperate for reassurance from his hero, Vale shrugged, still unsure exactly how he wanted to play it, or how far Marc would let him take it, "You tell me?"

"It was only a joke!" Rapid word falling from his tongue, even as his brain told him to be quiet, Marc rambled. It hadn't been the first time he'd called Vale an old man, but it seemed to be the first time Vale hadn't found it amusing.

Tilting his head to the side, a deliberate barb in his voice, Vale sighed, dramatic and loud, "Perhaps I am just disappointed... I think we were friends..."

"We are!" Again words flew from his mouth quickly, like a babbling stream of apologies and hero-worship about how much fun he'd had battling with Vale all year and how the trip to the Ranch was just  _amazing_.

Steering them into the corridor, their friendship so cemented no-one noticing or caring, Vale nodded, "It is difficult... When someone is a friend and then they take the piss... It make you wonder, they say you should not have friends in MotoGP..."

"Iwanttobefriends!" Letting Vale navigate them into a small room, containing only a few tables holding canapés that no-one wanted and champagne bottles, empty because they  **were**  wanted, Marc's stomach was in a painfully knotted twist of despair - Vale not only his friend, but his hero, only ever second to Dani in that respect, "We are friends, it was only a joke, I promise!"

Shrugging, his face portraying the look of sadness so well, Vale leant against a table, a few bottles lightly clinking as he moved them, "I 'ope so... I want us to be friends. Maybe you could..."

"Could what? What can I do?" Looking young again, dangerously young, Marc's voice was high and desperate and his eyes wide and pleading.

Taking off his jacket, slowly folding it and putting it over a stray chair, Vale smiled, his bright eyes darkening, "Maybe you could apologise..."

"Apologise?" Swallowing hard, the atmosphere in the room changing, Marc not sure he was reading the situation right at  _all_ , he bit his lip, "I-I-I'm sorry?"

Frown on his face, the well schooled 'well that was bollocks' face Marc knew the Italian normally reserved for Jorge's answers in a press conference, Vale puffed out his cheeks, letting out a long, slow sigh, "I think..." Slowly drawing his up and down Marc's body, adjusting himself, clearly hard, no more pretence left as the sparkling blue pools that you could drown in as they locked onto Marc's, "Perhaps you should apologise  _properly_..."

"P-p-p-p-properly? How?"

Smirking, a sharp amused look that said 'I know you are not  _that_  innocent, but we'll go with this for now', Vale nodded towards Marc, "Take off your jacket..."

Feeling like a herd of cattle was jumping on his belly, butterflies considerably too small to be causing the sensations he was feeling, Marc tried not to wince at the metallic taste of copper, and associated sting, that trickled into his mouth signalling just how hard he'd bitten on his lip. Closing his eyes, hoping to escape the feeling that Vale could somehow see into his soul, he shrugged his jacket down his arms, unsure why, but feeling like he must. Placing it on the table he waited, only opening his eyes when it clicked that Vale wouldn't speak until he did.

"And the shirt and tie..."

"I..." Opening and closing his mouth, like a goldfish in a bowl with someone looking through the glass, Marc blushed bright red as his hands went to his tie, the tie his Mother had tied for him just a few hours previously.

Watching Marc with a curious mix of amusement and lust Vale chuckled aloud at the trembling fingers that made opening buttons look like the world's most difficult task. Adjusting himself again, the view of the smooth honeyed chest twitching in the cool air sending even more blood pooling to his groin, Vale rolled up his sleeves. Still taking his time, enjoying making Marc, always so fast, wait.

"Come here..."

It wasn't until he was gagging that Marc realised where he was and exactly  _what_  he was doing. Somehow, in the panicked haze of wanting to apologise for an accidental slight, he'd allowed himself to be guided to the floor. Long, slim fingers cupped his jaw as he'd let his mouth fall open, the other set of fingers tugging on his hair so hard that he genuinely feared having bald patches. Hands scrabbling at Vale's thighs, the glittery fabric of Vale's suit scratchy against his hands (and his cheek), Marc tried to slow the pace, trying to hollow his cheeks and remember what he liked on the occasional occasion that a received blow job was about blowing  **him**  and not blowing  _Marc Marquez_.

Running a thumb across Marc's cheek Vale sighed softly, he might be 35, but the vision in front of him was already sending flickers of interest to his spent cock. Marc was always good looking, but rocked back on his heels, hair pulled astray, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, mouth open with trickles of saliva and come heading for his chin and his eyes black and wide he had never, Vale was sure, looked more gorgeous.

"Ah... maybe now it is me who should apologise..." Pulling Marc to his feet, the young man pliable like warm candle wax, he pulled their mouths together. Delivering a kiss that stole the air from Marc's burning lungs; full of teeth clashing and biting and Vale's tongue maruading around Marc's mouth, not caring about the taste of himself, and Marc trying to match up, but always having the pace stolen from him.

Reaching for Marc's belt, making quick words of the zip and button, Vale deliberately let his fingers ghost over the younger man's crotch, chuckling at the loud, needy wail that drew. Dropping the clothing to the floor, pushing the tight black boxers with them, he wrapped his fingers around Marc, letting the groaning young man rest his head onto his shoulder, weight slumped against Vale to keep him upright.

Thrusting into Vale's hand, that continually switched between the tight grip he needed and an infuriatingly loose one that gave virtually no friction, his balls tight and wanting, Marc's ability to speak was lost, but his tone was clear. He'd been needy, he'd been wanting and now the garbled little sounds in Vale's ear were clear _begging_.

Moving them, Marc still moulding to Vale's hands, Vale couldn't help, but laugh loud at the loud, angry, growl that came from Marc as the older man bent him over the table, trapping his cock against the cold, plastic table top. Running light nails down Marc's spine, watching the way Marc arched into his touch, his flesh goosbumping at the touch, Vale sighed as his fingers stopped just short of his crack, "You are beautiful..."

Taking a few breaths, wanting to enjoy the moments just in case Marc was angry enough after to never speak to him again, he reached for one of the bottles he noticed was not completely empty. Wetting his mouth the idea formed in his head, and he thumped it down on the table, stifling his groan at the way the muscles in Marc's back moved as he startled, "Are you very sorry?"

"Hdasrrreee..." Cheek pressed to the cold table Marc was too far gone to make any sense, too busy rocking himself, his cock pressed between his own warm, soft skin and the unforgiving, hard formica of the table, to answer Vale further.

Taking Marc's hands, his own cock pushing hard on his trousers, he encouraged the younger man to grip his own cheeks, "Let me see..."

Watching the red flush pass over the younger man's body, the alcohol not enough to numb him from the realisation of exactly what he was doing, what he was exposing to Vale, and anyone who cared to open the door behind him, making Marc yowl low, hips rocking harder against the table until the sharp sting of Vale's hand cracking down on his rump, red handprint staining his right cheek, still him.

Running a wetted finger down Marc's cleft, watching his hole clench at the gentle touch Vale sighed, determined to make the most of his moaning.

For Marc, he could only wail. His own nails digging into his cheeks painfully as the hot, wet, velvety tongue lapped at him, over and over, switching from wide, wet licks, to curled little jabs; determined to lick him open. The sensation of the liquid trickling down his cleft, pooling around Vale's tongue, bubbling on his skin, brought a string of profanities from his mouth, the sensation weird, but good, amazingly good. So good the burn of a finger, lubricated only by spit and sticky champagne, pushing into him felt worth it and, as Vale's tongue lapped again, around the intrusion, Marc  _wanted_  it...

Marc wailed loud, only Vale's hands digging into his shoulders keeping him in place, at the burning pain as he felt like he was being split in half. One finger had been good, two better and three painfully until they'd found the squishy spot that make Marc swear and his cock almost expode instantly... This wasn't pleasure, this, Vale's suddenly huge seeming cock, was torture. Body glistening with sweat Marc tried to free his hands, trapped between his cheeks and Vale's body, but couldn't. Wriggling more he let out a loud howl, his body shuddering as Vale's cock found that place, the place that made  _everything_  fantastic.

Rocking into Marc, slow at first, deliberately aiming for his prostate each time Vale watched with lusty fascination as Marc fell apart in front of him. His wriggling ceased, in the end he was just a garbling, sweaty, beautiful mess bent over the table, holding his own cheeks open for Vale to pound into. Reaching a hand round as his balls began to tighten and his belly bubble Vale laughed, cheeky and so  _Vale_ , as two quick tugs hauled Marc over the edge, soaking Vale's hand. The extra tightness of Marc's tight muscles clenching around him enough to make Vale bury himself with a hard thrust and shudder, filling Marc full of come.

Stepping back, tucking himself away, Vale could only look at the sight. No longer able to hold himself open Marc's hands were just on the table next to him, a small trail of come leaking from his crack, mingling with the drops of glitter Vale's suit had left dotted all over Marc's body (glitter that Marc would be finding  _everywhere_ , and blushing about, for  **weeks** ), bruises and bites up his spine and his face still wrecked. Locking eyes with the young man, seeing the internal mind games begin, Vale smiled, blue eyes cheeky and dangerous, as he leant in to ghost a kiss onto his wrecked lips, "Apology accepted."


End file.
